In a disturbing account of bombing suspect Tamerlan Tsarnaev, family, friends and neighbors have gone on to tell how the 26 year old harbored a pattern of verbal abuse and violence toward women that included fits of rage against his wife and an arrest in 2009 for slapping a previous girlfriend, according to police records and accounts from those who knew him. Further accounts have gone on to portray the assailant as combative, angry and controlling.

In fact friends of Tamerlan Tsarnaev’s wife, Katherine Russell who converted to her husband’s faith when they married have now gone on to say that they often witnessed him calling her a prostitute and a slut. Disturbingly the friends go on to say that they also witnessed Tamerlan Tsarnaev to often fly into into fits of rage where he would throw objects, including furniture.

And then there’s via the UK’s dailymail: Mary Silberman, whose apartment backs up to Tamerlan Tsarnaev’s Cambridge apartment, said she often heard loud arguments late at night that mostly consisted of a woman’s voice yelling at a man.

It wasn’t enough to call the police,’ Silberman told Reuters. ‘It didn’t sound like anyone was in physical danger.’

But the shouting was often loud enough to keep her awake at night. She could also hear the couple’s daughter, Zahara, now three years old, wailing at night and she often wondered why the mother wasn’t responding, she said.

It is understood that Katherine Russell hasn’t spoken publicly about her husband since he was killed in a shootout with police early Friday morning.

That said it appears Katherine Russell may have spoken to federal authorities for the first time on Tuesday, after she was spotted leaving her Rhode Island family home with her lawyer and three federal investigators as authorities began to piece the case together.

About

I think the idea to start “Scallywag and Vagabond.” (SCV) originates from my myriad background and the many years I have spent in preferred cafes and brasseries extolling the virtues and subtle intricacies of ‘being’ as the Beaujolais ran, the cigarette wafted and the gentleman to my side pontificated while spraying himself with a deftly tied cravat and sun crested idolatry.’

I grew up in Australia where as a young man one was obliged to become a hero of sorts. A master swimmer, fighter of causes, ideals and disheveled denizen of aesthetics, and more often a carefree ‘larrikin’ who would occasionally poke his sun bronzed nose at authority and convention Read More